Dragonfly
by DreamThief
Summary: PG-13 for language. Chris and Claire head up to Paris after Code: Veronica. Arg, I suck at writing these things. Just R/R, please! (Completed.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is pretty self-explanatory. It's about a week after Code: Veronica, as Claire thinks over what happened with those creepy Ashfords on a train going to Paris. A sort of contemplative fic, I suppose. (And I don't really know if there are dragonflies in France. But pretend that there are for right now, okay? The same goes for the train to Paris. Do they even run trains to Paris? If the Resident Evil staff can make inconsistencies, so can I.) Oh, and this contains major spoilers, so if you haven't played CV all the way through, I suggest that you don't read this, so you don't have some of the better plot twists ruined.

Many thanks to Darth_Bond, who kindly edited my story. You have my eternal thanks for putting up with my ramblings.

Dragonfly

      Claire stood silently, leaning on the rail at the back of the train car. The thick trees, with a light dusting of snow, whirled by in a blur of green and white. The fresh smell of pine wafted gently through the air.

Suddenly, something zipped through the air in front of her in a blinding flash of electric blue and vivid green. A dragonfly. There had been a time not too long ago when she thought she'd retch if she saw another dragonfly, or even an ant, for that matter. They reminded her too much of Alexia and her brother Alfred, and Antarctica, and, most of all…Steve.

Claire sighed, and shifted more of her weight onto the rail. The wind whipped her hair loose, and several strands flew about her face, slapping against her cheeks and forehead.

She thought about that prick Wesker, too…something about the way he'd touched her made Claire want to shudder. She had the nasty feeling that if he hadn't been pressed for time, he'd have done more than simply kill her quickly.

      Claire raised her head to stare out at the tracks as they disappeared out of sight. The dragonfly…Alexia and Alfred enjoyed feeding dragonflies to their pet ants. Was that all she had been? A dragonfly? A meal, for the queen ant to feed on? The image of the Ashford twins, hovering over a pot of ants, flashed into her mind. _Alfred pulled the wings off, and dropped the writhing body into the pot. The ants swarmed onto it, eating it alive, as the tow-headed siblings looked up and smiled at each other…_

      Steve was that dragonfly, and he'd been eaten alive – eaten by the T-Veronica Virus that, in his dying moments, drained from his veins. Steve lost his wings as Alexia laughed in her cruel, mocking way, and Alfred smiled at his sister's pleasure. But the Redfield siblings flew away, flitting through the wintry air to freedom, and a life away from Umbrella's horrors…survivor's guilt, they called it. Claire didn't really have a reason, other than she was living and Steve was not.  That he'd died so she could live.

      Maybe Steve had found his peace – with himself, his father, and hell, maybe even his mother. Remembering Wesker's taunting after Alexia's final form had been destroyed, Claire clenched her fist involuntarily. Performing experiments on poor Steve Burnside, no doubt…! Claire realized it it wasn't Steve's death that hurt her so much, but rather the way he died. She'd seen Chief Irons die, and that man in the albinoid room back at Rockfort, among many others. But Steve was different. Steve had died for her, and the realization that she'd laugh again, cry again, sleep, walk, smile, read, _think_ again, and he wouldn't because of her made her heart throb painfully.

      Her brother was worried about her, Claire could tell. As she stood there, Chris was probably right inside the car, glancing out the small window every so often to make sure she was okay. He meant well, and it was hard to be angry with him. Added to the fact that Claire herself just wasn't feeling up to fighting.

Claire straightened her back. The scenery was starting to change already, more and more buildings popping up around the tracks. They'd be at the station soon, and Claire would finally get to meet the elusive Jill Valentine. Chris seemed smitten with her.

      Rolling her shoulders, she thought for a moment about the irony of the entire Antarctican fiasco. Two sets of siblings, and only one had survived. The Ashford legacy was gone, wiped clear from the earth. The bloodline had ended with the untimely demise of Alexander's twisted experiments in Antarctica.

Claire frowned as she thought over another odd occurrence – she'd taken a dragonfly key apart in the Rockfort residency, the way the twins did. And Chris put a dragonfly together, symbolizing…a full circle?

      A faint smile graced her lips. Her English teachers of the past would be proud. But it was over, Claire decided as she stepped inside, nodding at Chris's apprehensive look. It was over with those hellish twins, and over with Steve and…well, maybe not with Wesker, but for now he was nothing but a fading memory.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In response to Bloodlover (who kindly reviewed this story): I'm sorry, but I honestly can't stand Steve. And I sincerely doubt that if Wesker's new company got Steve reanimated he'd be human anyway. Besides, this is actually a sort of prologue for my other story, 'Moonlight Sonata', which is Claire / Leon…so it wouldn't really work to have Claire and Steve together in this story, even if I didn't hate his guts. But thank you (and Lyger, too) for reviewing! ^_^

Chapter 2

        In less than fifteen minutes, the Redfield siblings were standing on the nearly empty platform as the train disappeared down the tracks. It was close to nine o' clock at night, according to the huge, circular clock mounted on the wall. The train that had left minutes before was the last one that night, and only a few people were still on the platform. Chris looked around, glanced at his watch and then turned back to Claire.

        "She'll be here soon. Jill's usually a little late…" Claire shrugged and shifted her weight to her left foot.

        "Can we sit down, please? I'm tired." Chris looked at her, a frown forming on his handsome face and a concerned expression in his eyes.

        "Sure. You want something to eat?" Claire shrugged again, and Chris led her over to an empty wooden bench across from a vending stand that was closing down for the night. Whatever they made, it didn't smell particularly appetizing, but the scent was enough to make Claire remember how long it had been since she'd last eaten real, nourishing food. Almost five days ago, in Madrid, where they'd bought their ticket for the first train of many.

        But she could wait. Claire wasn't hungry enough to eat spoiled food – which was exactly what was being sold – and besides, Jill Valentine would be there soon. And they'd find a hotel or something, and she'd buy some crackers from a vending machine.

Chris set down the bag they shared that held their belongings and started to pace back and forth, casting a watchful eye on his younger sister every few steps. Swinging her legs up onto the bench, Claire slouched down and placed her temple against the cool wooden slats of the bench.

        A tall, nervous-looking man walked by and threw a half-eaten sandwich into a garbage can not five feet from Claire's bench. She watched as he walked away, then focused on the trashcan. A trail of ants sped up the side and raced in a mad frenzy onto the jelly sandwich. Claire watched in fascination as the ants slowly covered the bread slice, turning it into a seething mass of tiny black bodies. Chris stepped into her line of sight and she tore her eyes from the ants to Chris's worried face.

        "You alright, Claire? You look sick." Just like Chris – straight to the point. Claire forced a smile and sat up.

        "No, I'm fine. Will your friend be here soon? I'm really tired." She was, too. Sleeping on a jolting train with frayed nerves and nightmares haunting you didn't make for restful sleep.

        "She'll be here. I promise. We'll go to her hotel room, and you can sleep as long as you want. Jill mentioned something about a house for sale that would do for a makeshift home." Claire smiled again and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs close to her. All she wanted was something decent to eat, and a bed that wouldn't shake, and maybe, if she was lucky, a change of clothes. Her jeans were crusted with mud and had a few small patches of blood on them (thankfully they blended with the brownish dirt stains) and her short-sleeved shirt and vest weren't very warm against the freezing winter air. Particularly the shirt, since it didn't even cover her belly button.

        Chris resumed pacing, and Claire closed her eyes, trying to relax. Chris suddenly stopped mid-stride and hesitated. Then he gently shook Claire's shoulder, as if he thought she was asleep. Her eyes snapped open and Chris smiled as he snatched up the little backpack.

        "That's Jill over there." He pointed towards the double doors presumably leading to the parking lot, where a young woman with dark brown hair and eyes the color of a cornflower stood. The woman – Jill – looked around for a moment before her eyes settled on Chris and Claire. A small smile crossed her face and she started towards them.

        Claire stood slowly and followed after Chris, who was already halfway over to Jill. When he reached her, they both awkwardly looked at each other before shaking hands. Claire stood a little behind Chris and waited for him to introduce her. It took him a while to realize what she was waiting for.

        "Oh, uh, Jill, this is Claire. And this is Jill Valentine." Claire smiled and offered her hand. Jill shook it – her hand was cold – and then turned towards the door.

        "I bought a truck from some guy a day ago. I think it's going to fall apart soon, but it'll do for now. He's the same one that told me about the house." Chris smiled happily and followed Jill like a dog on a leash, and Claire trailed after him with a considerable lack of enthusiasm. Her spirits dropped even lower when she saw the car. Jill hadn't exaggerated.

        It took quite a while for the engine to start, and when it did, it made such horrible grating noises Claire worried a little bit at first before she grew accustomed to it. Chris and Jill talked about old acquaintances from S.T.A.R.S. but Claire kept quiet, staring out the windshield at the brightly lit sidewalks.

        When they finally came to a stop, it was in the back lot of a small hotel. A garden sat behind a fenced-in tiled patio. It was empty now, with a thick blanket of snow covering the flowerbeds. Claire wondered, as she climbed out of the truck, what flowers grew there in the springtime. A line from a song she'd heard once in a movie sprang into her head.

        "_I love Paris in the springtime…"_

        A wry grin twisted across Claire's face. She'd never seen Paris in spring. And at the rate she was going, she wouldn't live to.

        "Claire!" Chris's voice made her jump. "Hurry up, it's freezing out here!" She slammed the car door shut and walked quickly through the snow to the covered porch, where the others were waiting. Jill was frowning and drumming her fingers against her thigh, looking impatient. Claire guiltily avoided their eyes and rubbed her arms vigorously.

        Inside, Jill led them to a cozy little room on the second floor. A third bed had been set up haphazardly in one small corner, close to the bathroom door. An aging television sat on the dresser and a nightstand with an antique lamp rested between the two large beds. Claire ached to rest her head on the down-filled pillows, but Chris and Jill both started to chatter as he unpacked the few things they'd brought.

        Watching them, Claire felt a pang of jealousy for this woman, who so easily caught her brother's attention and snatched it away from her, but she was really too tired to care much. After a moment's debate, she pulled off her boots and vest and slid between the covers. As sleep began to cloud her mind, she felt someone brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead and heard Chris murmur,

        "She said she was tired, but…I'm sort of worried. I think she might be sick." Jill didn't respond, or, if she did, Claire didn't hear. She was already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I just realized there's a discrepancy in my story. When Claire starts thinking about Chris's career, I don't mention him going to college. However, Chris _had_ to be in the military if he flies a fighter jet (like in the closing sequence of Code: Veronica) but in the US Air Force, all pilots are officers, and all officers attend college. However, I'm not changing the story because I'm lazy and slothful and have no motivation to.

(This brings out an interesting inconsistency in the actual Resident Evil storyline – if Chris _did_ go to college, that means he graduated at 22, most probably. That gives him three years at the most to join the Air Force, go through training [roughly two years' worth, so says my source], fly with a squadron, leave, drift for a while [could be any amount of time, really, but I'm guessing somewhere between four-eight months], meet Barry, join the "newly-formed" STARS and transfer to Raccoon City [where he's friends with other Bravo and Alpha Team members, so I assume he's lived there for at least a couple months]. And don't forget – somewhere in there he squeezes in the time to become a superb marksman _before_ he joins STARS. What a guy, that Chris.)

Chapter 3

        Sunlight streamed into the hotel room, blinding Claire as she opened her eyes. Groaning, she rolled over and shut her eyes to block out the glaring light. She'd slept surprisingly well last night – no dreams. Maybe because she was in a _real_ bed. As she slowly sat up, Claire saw that both Chris and Jill were missing. The light in the bathroom was on, though…

        Claire yawned, rubbing a crick in her neck away. The bathroom door opened, and Jill stepped out.

        "Good morning, Claire." Jill shut off the light and approached Claire. "Chris went out to get something for breakfast. He should be back soon."

        "Alright…" Claire shifted positions to lie on her stomach. "Does the TV work?" Jill nodded and tossed the remote to her. "Thanks."

        "Welcome."

        After flipping through several channels, Claire finally settled on one with cartoons. It was all in French, but what the hell? It wasn't like she was watching anyway. She stared at the screen without really seeing anything, and started to think. Claire knew it wasn't the smartest thing to do – these days, thinking only made her more depressed – but no other diversions seemed readily available.

        At first, it was mostly memories that came to mind. Claire tried to avoid all the unhappy ones, but the more she remembered the harder it became. One of her happiest recollections was a family trip to Canada when she was eleven – but right after that, her mother had died, and three months later, her father. Following her parents' deaths, Claire and Chris were shuffled into a foster home. Chris turned eighteen a couple months later, and they'd both agreed it would be better if she stayed in foster care. Chris couldn't really afford to look after her.

        Then he'd joined the Air Force and left Claire by herself. Chris would visit every Christmas, and usually once or twice a year besides that, and they were in communication on a regular basis, but it wasn't the same. Then Chris got the ol' boot – an argument with a superior officer – and he'd drifted for a while, working here and there for a quick buck. He visited her during that time, and told her how low he was feeling, gave her an early birthday gift, and then he'd left. Claire didn't hear from him for almost a month, and then he reappeared, apologizing profusely for not talking to her for so long.

        He'd met Barry Burton in a grocery store, of all places, and they'd talked a bit. Barry told Chris about S.T.A.R.S. and offered to give him any help he could joining. Claire was both pleased and upset when he took up the job. Raccoon City was a long way from Georgia, and Chris wouldn't be visiting once a month any more. But even after the move, they stayed close.

        A week and three days after her eighteenth birthday, Claire moved out and headed to Indiana, where she attended a state university. Chris visited more often, and he called once a week to make sure she was alright. Despite her protests, Chris also dished out a portion of his paycheck for Claire, saying that as a bachelor he didn't need the whole thing.

        Then the nightmare started…Chris called on July 22, right on schedule. He said something about Bravo Team going in to check out some weird stuff in the forest nearby, but added that it was nothing too serious. When Chris called again, he seemed tense and wary. They talked for less than five minutes before Chris hung up and left a puzzled Claire on the other line. He was more normal the next time, although still a little distant. In early September, he told her something was big was going on, and he'd get in touch as soon as he could and – Claire still remembered the stern voice he'd used – he told her to stay far, far away from Raccoon City.

        Even after that, Claire expected a letter or a phone call within a week or two. But by the end of September, nothing happened. She'd called dozens of times, both to his apartment and to the R.P.D., and to Barry Burton's house as well. Nobody answered anywhere. Claire started to panic. She decided she couldn't take it any more, that she _had_ to see Chris, and, in a state of alarm, she'd gotten on her motorcycle and headed towards Raccoon.

        "BOP! Heeheehee!"

Claire blinked, frowning, and refocused her eyes on the TV. A purple mouse was hitting a young boy over the head and laughing. The dazed boy stood and started walking with his arms held stiffly out in front of him and a line of drool trickling down his chin. _Zombie…_

        Claire tapped a button on the remote and the screen went black. If only killing _real_ zombies was that easy.

        The sound of the lock clicking alerted Claire to her brother's return. Seconds later, Chris trudged into the room carrying two large brown paper bags. Claire sat up, curious. And hungry.

        "What'd you get, Chris?" He looked over, as if realizing for the first time she was there.

        "Claire, you're awake! Sleep well?" Claire nodded and looked into one of the bags. Some buttered toast, wrapped in thin paper, and a glass bottle filled with amber-colored juice. "I got you apple juice and some stuff from the bakery. Hey, Jill, didn't see you there…" Claire tuned out the rest of their conversation and started rummaging through the bag he'd dropped on the bed.

        As she munched her toast thoughtfully, Chris and Jill started discussing their plans for moving out of the city. Claire would be more than happy to get out of Paris – after her capture in the Umbrella building in that same city, she had to be careful. They were probably looking for her. Unless they thought she died in the outbreak on Rockfort, although that was unlikely. They probably sifted through the bodies and identified them all.

        Claire pulled one of the little disposable packets of jelly out of the bag and opened it. As she spread it over the lightly browned bread, a rosy lump of strawberry jam splattered onto her denim-covered knee. With a muted expletive, Claire tried to rub the stain away, without success. When she lifted her eyes from her pink-stained leg, she saw Jill observing her.

        Claire plastered a smile on. "Real smart, huh?" Jill continued to watch her coolly.

        "Maybe you'd better buy some new clothes, then." Jill turned to Chris. "You too. We're leaving Paris today, anyway, so this is the perfect chance. What do you say? It might be fun."

        Claire just sort of sat there for a minute. To be honest, the thought had never occurred to her, although now that Jill mentioned it, it was so simple it nearly rose up and smacked her on the forehead. Shopping didn't seem…right, in the present situation.

        "I…guess so…" Claire hated how uncertain and feeble she sounded, and cleared her throat. "Yeah, that sounds nice. Shopping. Fun." A little more convincing this time, but not quite what she'd hoped for. Chris shrugged.

        "You want to go now? Most of the stores are open, and we could probably get there before it gets crowded." Jill nodded and stood, pulling a black purse from the nightstand and starting towards the door. Chris followed suit and meandered after her towards the door. Claire stood and approached the door. As she turned to leave, Claire took one last look at the hotel room, almost as if she was searching for something lurking in the shadows.

        Then she shook her head, smiled a tiny I'm-so-paranoid sort of smile, and made sure the door was locked. It slid smoothly shut behind her, locking out her troubles for at least a little while.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Last chapter of this story! Yippee! And now…some self-promotion: if you liked this story, check out 'Moonlight Sonata', another one I wrote (and am still writing – I really should've been making up a chapter for that instead of this, but oh well) and an untitled story in the works that'll be out…when I get around to it. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4

      The excursion to some of Paris's acclaimed boutiques lifted Claire's spirits for a while – as well as informing her of several interesting facts about Jill Valentine, such as her disdain for thong underwear and her surreptitious passion for classic science fiction novels. Claire's contented mood ended when she remembered her trip to a Pennsylvania mall with Sherry a little less than a month ago.

      How _was_ Sherry? And Leon, for that matter?

      After that, the rest of the trip seemed tainted for Claire, and she was more than happy to quickly make her purchases and return to the hotel on a public bus. Chris – who had actually just dropped them off and returned home – was already waiting for them, and in a few minutes they were piled in the truck with the few things they owned.

      Less than ten minutes out of Paris, they had to pull over so Jill could drive (Claire had to agree with the sentiment, if not her exact words: "You drive like you're drunk, Chris, and I'll be damned if I survived man-eating zombies just to die in a car crash because of your nonexistent driving skills!")  before they continued on. It took a good forty-five minutes to reach the little village Jill had mentioned before.

      It was a charming place, with a street full of cafés and rustic restaurants, old-fashioned buildings scattered about and a town square lined with shops and public buildings. As Chris and Jill debated heatedly over whom to talk to first, Claire slipped off to investigate the library she'd spotted. Old books were one of Claire's favorite things – there was something about their musty scent, the browning pages, even the moldy covers on some. On entering, she was disappointed. No old books there, only new ones with shiny plastic covers and creamy white pages and modern-looking illustrations.

      After wandering around for a few minutes, Claire returned outside to look for the others. She was glad she'd decided to put on the fuzzy black jacket she'd bought as a brisk wind whistled around her, nipping at her exposed face. She found Chris pretty fast – he was standing outside a store and looking around. When Claire reached him, he jerked his head towards the store's interior and said,

      "Jill's in there, talking to the owner of the house. With any luck we'll have a place to call our own soon." Claire smiled and sat down on the stone balustrade nearby. Here, where she was sheltered from the stinging wind, the cold wasn't too bad. Her thoughts slowly turned back to Sherry and Leon. Where were they now? When Claire left them near the end of November, she'd told them to get in contact with Barry Burton, and given them his cabin's phone number, which was a safe distance from Raccoon.

      Claire hoped, with all her heart, that they'd gotten in touch with Barry and were on their way over here. Chris told a few days ago that some girl named Rebecca and a guy named Carlos were on the way here with Barry, and at Claire's insistence, he'd called Barry and given him the details of Sherry and Leon's location, asking him to take them with him.

      Leon…Claire still remembered how he looked when she first met him in Raccoon. Scared shitless, no doubt, but calm – you could see it in his eyes, those deep, midnight blue pools of tranquility. That same serenity was what gave her the nerve to duck when he told her to, and gave her speed as they sprinted towards the abandoned police car. It was like an aura radiating from him, Claire decided. She wasn't the only one affected by him, either. When Sherry first opened her eyes and gazed around after Claire used the vaccine on her, she looked about ready to scream. Then she'd looked up at Leon and she calmed down. Just like that.

      A door slammed close by and Claire jumped, startled. Jill stood between the siblings grinning and looked from one to the other.

      "We got it – as long as we can give him cash." Chris smiled, helped Claire up, and headed towards the car.

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      The drive to the house seemed endless, although according to Claire's wristwatch it only took twenty-seven minutes. The scenery repeated itself over and over again, a tireless backdrop of snow-encrusted trees and huge white fields, silent and dismally cold under the grayish light cast by the sun half-covered with a cloud.

      The house, though…it was beautiful. A relic of the Victorian days, it towered three stories high, with an attic window peeping shyly out from under the eaves and a basement, invisible beneath the large house. It seemed welcoming, kind, even, if a house could feel such a way.

      "Dammit," Jill muttered as she flipped through the key ring. "There must be twenty keys on…here we go." She slipped the key into the lock and twisted it. The lock rumbled and clicked. Jill turned the handle and the door swung open, revealing a long, dark hall.

      "Looks nice enough," Chris said quietly. "Where's the light switch?" Claire flipped the tiny white switch on the wall next to the door. Light from a stained glass lamp hanging above the center burst on, painting the walls and floor impossible shades of purple and green. Jill looked up from her key ring for a minute before narrowing her eyes and flipping through the keys.

      "It's going to take forever to find out where all these go," she said to no one in particular.

      "As long as you find the one to the kitchen today," Chris replied, "I don't care how long it takes you." With that, he returned to the truck to empty it out. Jill rolled her eyes and chose a key, apparently at random.

      "Typical male…"

*****************************************************************************************************************************

      Claire chose her bedroom carefully, making sure that it had two beds. If Sherry came, Claire didn't want her to have to share a room with someone else. Besides, she'd like the company. Lately her dreams hadn't been all that pleasant, and the presence of another person might help a little. When she made up her mind she got down to cleaning – the place was absolutely filthy.

      At the end of the day, as Claire wiped off one last persistent blotch on the bathroom mirror, she decided that living out in the middle of nowhere was actually a good thing. Umbrella would have a much harder time finding them, after all. And it was sort of nice to have so much time to think. She'd need it – to sort things out, she kept telling herself. What Claire really needed time to think about was Steve. Before she could do anything with anyone, Claire had to figure out what exactly she felt for him.

      After a phone call to Barry's safehouse, Chris informed Claire that both Sherry and Leon were accompanying Barry to Paris, and they'd be there within the week. While the thought of seeing Sherry again was pleasant enough, Leon's imminent arrival made Claire's stomach flip and a dull panic set into her system. Leon was the _last_ person she wanted to see while thinking about Steve.

      So, Claire decided, she'd just have to make up her mind about things before Leon Kennedy arrived. _Easier said than done_, her cynical mind whispered to her. Claire stifled the voice abruptly, and settled down for a peaceful week of reflection…


End file.
